


Puncture Wound

by doctorwhipped



Category: Open Heart (Visual Novels)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Romance, Boss/Employee Relationship, Doctors & Physicians, F/M, Forbidden Love, Idiots in Love, Introspection, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Slow Burn, open heart: intern year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorwhipped/pseuds/doctorwhipped
Summary: Ethan monitors Naveen overnight on New Year’s Eve. An unexpected guest keeps him company moments before the midnight strikes.Set after Miami in OH1.
Relationships: Ethan Ramsey/Main Character (Open Heart), Ethan Ramsey/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	Puncture Wound

Tiffany crossed Ethan’s mind an hour before midnight.

Perhaps ‘crossed’ would be inadequate—she emerged from the room she’d claimed a permanent tenancy on.

_Did she have any plans for the last night of the year?_

One simple thought was enough to set forth an entire mental journey he unwillingly undertook. One burdensome question drew out another, then two more, again and again, until his own curiosity led to a splitting headache.

_Was she having fun? Was she…Happy?_

_How much did she drink? Was it wine, whiskey or tequila?_

_Who was with her? Did he make her laugh? What were they talking about? Did her eyes sparkle like the starry midnight sky over Miami when she looked at him?_

Staring at the bottle of Knappogue Castle under the clinical bright lighting of the freshly renowated space, he scoffed in a loud reprimand. The sound resonated through the walls, echoing like a sinister shriek.

He didn’t plan on drinking whiskey in his Johns Hopkins mug just a few feet away from Naveen’s secret room in the construction wing at Edenbrook. He didn’t plan on anything, actually. New Year’s Eve was a day like any other, if not even more accursed, with drunken lunacy and fireworks’ victims stealing the spotlight.

But this year was different, and after 36 years of a mildly peaceful existence, Ethan Ramsey could finally attest that drastic times do call for drastic measures.

The pristine ghost white setting of the unoccupied lab a stark contrast to the mess buzzing around in his head—and not just any mess. His mess took a form of a quick-witted, raven-haired enchantress with a contagious smile plastered on her face like second skin.

Because it had to be some kind of sorcery. He’d never felt this way before—powerless, dependent, bewitched.

 _Nonsense_. All of this nothing but a bundle of balderdash. Did _The_ Ethan Ramsey just hit his personal rock bottom? The facts, however, were irrefutable: his rational mind was immersed in pondering an unexplained mystery—a woman.

His intern. His accomplice. Both the remnants of his sanity and the cause of his madness.

Miami was the peak of his uncharacteristic fascination. He’d been careless. Selfish. Weak. He crossed the line; it was merely a step, but it changed everything.

Miami was a mistake. He should have known better, he should have foreseen that inviting Doctor Addams would be courting disaster. But how could something inherently wrong feel so liberating, so…

_Right?_

A voice like caramel velvet stopped Ethan’s train of thoughts, twisting his face in shock.

„Did I miss the party?”

He turned round to see the ancient beauty, as radiant as Hemera herself, gracing him with a dazzling smile he felt unworthy for. She was dressed in white—not red, not black, not this time—wearing the spotless porcelain color like a talismanic blank slate hoping to summon a new beginning.

He must’ve been dreaming. She was just an illusion produced by his most concerning urge, a wan spectre of his nameless feelings.

„It’s a party for one.” Ethan’s watchful gaze glued to Tiffany’s silhouette examining her every step. The mist of overpowering vanilla entered the room, filling the air with its enthralling scent. _It wasn’t a dream_. Just a tiny sniff guaranteed losing one’s mind, but he aimed to prove to himself he was charm-resistant. „Aren’t you supposed to be getting drunk with your friends?”

Tiffany walked over to the table, raising an accusatory brow at the untouched bottle and slightly worn out mug. The big paper bag she was carrying quickly found its place on the worktop still protected by thin plastic sheet, right next to Ethan’s liquid company for the night.

„That’s still in the picture.” She responded, fixing her wistful gaze back on him. The corners of her mouth quirked up as she continued. „I switched with Jackie and took the late shift, then Tiana offered to help me with the make-up for Bryce’s party and I couldn’t say no. How did she do?”

Ignoring the perils of falling under the irreversible spell, Ethan allowed his eyes to rest on her face. Doctor Addams’ favorite patient changed Tiffany’s signature natural glow for a carpet-ready look: dark shimmery eye make-up softened by a rose-hued glossy lip and a tiny wave of freckles splattered on her nose. There was something alluring about that dramatic transformation, something that made him travel back in time to their balcony in The Celestial.

A flashback of her plushy lips kissing him fiercely just a few days back downed on him, blossoming his cheeks with fire. Those scandalous lips marking his skin crimson red, bringing him near a cardiac arrest.

Careful not to collide with the pernicious green of her eyes, he swallowed loud, pushing back the palpable memory of the slow, insistent strokes of her hot tongue against his.

„I’m not qualified to judge.”

Her brows arched in amusement. „You don’t have to be. Does it look pretty or not?”

The seemingly simple question posed a threat to Ethan’s facade. She was testing him, throwing her words at the weakest points of his professionalism like she knew exactly where to aim—the most infuriating habit of hers.

„It looks…” His pulse raced when their eyes met again, as if that soundless crackle in the air was produced by the clash of wills between them. _Pretty_ wouldn’t do her justice, whether she was bare-faced or dolled up. But he had to keep that observation to himself. „Suited to the occasion.”

The confined space of the renowated room filled with Tiffany’s laughter: spellbinding, genuine, lifting the corners of his mouth despite his best effort to surpress a smile. And she stood there in all her magical audacity to brighten up every space she’d enter—even the ruins of his stone-cold heart, even that morbid shadow of abandoned hope in the darkest corner of his soul.

„I’ll assume it’s 'glamorous’ in Ethan Ramsey’s language.”

She took her coat off and he finally drank her full form in, shyly admiring her curves hugged by the sleek material of the floor-length classic dress. The outrageous thigh-high slit taunted him with every single move of her body, flashing her alabaster skin invitingly. He couldn’t escape this punishment—she was both heaven and hell, wearing torment and delight equally well.

Her cheeky expression hardened in a flash, shifting his focus back on the right track. „How’s Patient X?”

Ethan folded his arms over his chest, frowning at that ridiculous codename she insisted on using. „His vitals are stable enough to allow a night without any complications, but he’s weak. He’s fallen asleep about an hour ago.”

The young doctor accepted the news with a solemn nod and a small, reassuring smile. She seemed to carry all the hope he lacked of—more a curse than a blessing. Respectful silence descended for a long while, until her hand wandered to the table, grasping lightly at the bottle of whiskey.

„So that’s why you’ve decided to Irish your way through the night.”

He suspected the secret bender would catch her attention sooner or later, but the jest made him flush to the roots of his hair all the same. Wincing slightly, he grunted in response. „I’m off the clock.”

„I know, I know. I’m not saying anything.” A smug grin flickered around the corners of her mouth, elevating his dreadful mood despite all his efforts to reject her light.

„You don’t have to actually say it. Your eyes speak for you.”

„They do, don’t they?” She turned round, gracefully tiptoeing in Ethan’s direction, an enigmatic smile dancing on her lips. The tone of her voice awoke a roaring thunder in his chest; every word that escaped her distracting mouth open for interpretation, downright allusive. „What else do you see in them?”

Ethan scanned her face sluggishly before losing himself in the glimmering depths of bright green. Dense fringe of her lashes swept him off the floor with every sultry blink.

Another wordless conversation connected their unspoken thoughts when her emeralds crashed into the ocean of his blues. They’d been talking this way for months now: exchanging lingering glances, frustrated sighs, silent whispers and untraceable hints.

It was a game he’d been losing since Miami.

The more he stared into Tiffany’s eyes, the more obvious everything seemed. So obvious he felt like a common fool—to have the world within his reach and do absolutely nothing about it.

To want something so badly and have to forget the feeling ever existed.

But if he cared about Tiffany, if he _really_ cared about her, he would leave her alone and focus on Doctor Addams’ promising career. There was no other choice and he made it abundantly clear. Except both his mind and Tiffany refused to listen.

„You’re tired.” He noted after a long minute, too fixed on her gaze to notice how close they were standing.

„No, I’m exhausted.” She chuckled quietly, the sound as soft as wings, in harmony with her eyes peering at him with concern. A sudden shiver ran the length of his body when her thumb brushed against his—not entirely by accident, it seemed. „And so are you.”

Caged in this vanilla-scented gridlock, he drew in a long breath and muttered. „I’m fine, Tiffany.”

„Have you looked into the mirror today? None of this is _fine_.” The sigh that escaped her lips fizzed in contradiction to the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let him ponder on it.

With a graceful twirl, she strode to her paper bag and took out a large box. „I figured I’d find you here and decided to bring you a little treat.”

„Did you…”

„Yes, I stayed up late to bake cookies.” Tiffany nodded before he asked the question, beaming with pride like she’d just won The Great American Baking Show. „It’s not much, but I thought you might need some sweet reinforcements.”

Ethan scratched his stubbly chin, feeling a lump forming in his throat. It wasn’t a part of the plan…She was supposed to move on, live her life and thrive. Leave him alone. Let him suffer in silence.

Surprise transformed his features as he blurted out the response, a reminiscence of their evening at Lummus Park Beach* on replay in his mind. „But you said that any kitchen business makes you want to jump off a roof.”

„Oh, I still hate everything about food prep.” Her shoulders lifted in a half shrug as she jerked her face away from the attending, denying him the right to read her. „It was a one time thing, I just went a little crazy that’s all.”

„You didn’t have to.” He grumbled in opposition to his half-melted heart.

„My roommates seem to disagree. I barely managed to save these for you.” Her laughter was music to his ears, even though his inner cynic performed a morbid tune tonight—the tune he had to stick to instead of choosing an emotional improvisation.

Brooding silence ensued as Ethan’s thoughts strayed from Tiffany’s warmth luring him in. She quickly caught the shift in his attention, strolling back to him.

„Hey, is everything okay?” Her small hand landed on his shoulder, and he stiffened on instinct. Nothing was okay, not when she acted the part of the emotional support he didn’t ask for, not when she was all angelic and hopeful—there was no hope for them. She had to fathom that self-evident truth.

The diagnostician cleared his throat, feigning indifference. „I suppose I should thank you. I’m sure your cookies are delicious.”

„They are. You’ll love them.” Tiffany’s hand was still glued to his body, and just when he thought she might move it away, she closed the distance between them, caressing his back.

„I could stay here, you know.” She nuzzled his neck, paralyzing him with a haunting whisper.

„You have other arrangements. Stick to them.” His harsh response and tense posture didn’t discourage the young intern: her chin dropped on his shoulder, proving how weak he really was.

„I can arrange myself out of the party.” She insisted, smoothing down his sweater. „I don’t care about the NYE bullshit anyway. We’ll order some food and talk through the night.”

Tiffany’s offer was as tempting as her entire being, but he had to put up a brave fight. „That won’t be necessary.”

„Bet you haven’t eaten anything today, so I beg to differ.” The intern moved even closer, _irresponsibly closer_ ; her hand slipped on his chest with a sudden hint of hesitation. „There’s a very decent steakhouse nearby and they’re open tonight, I’m sure…”

„Stop.” He interjected harshly, throwing her hand away. Tiffany frowned in confusion, hurt etched on her face.

She didn’t deserve that treatment. But he had to go far and beyond to strike a decisive blow to their burgeoning sentiments.

„I don’t need you here. Your shift is over.”

These knife-sharp words pressed into her chest, cutting through flesh with mathematical precision before they settled in her heart.

It was a clean, surgical cut with no anaesthesia.

What he did was cruel, but it was for the best. Even though it was identical to stabbing the only person in the world that cared about him, and then pulling the knife between his own ribs.

But it was necesssary. He couldn’t let her in any further.

Tiffany sniffed loudly, her pinky finger swiping stray tear off the corner of her eye, careful not to spoil the glittery makeup. He watched her fight back the tears with force much stronger than her delicate body.

„Right.” The saddest of smiles crystalized on her face—but it wasn’t reserved for Ethan, the young doctor didn’t spare him a single look. She smiled at herself, as if mocking this naive attempt at breaking down the concrete walls surrounding his heart.

„Happy New Year, Doctor Ramsey.” Her voice lacked any emotion, demonstrating the power of his rejection.

She put her coat back on in a hurry and marched out without a goodbye. At least that was the reaction he felt worthy of.

The sound of her heels clicking on the floor ignited an eerie sense of guilt pinching at him. Her transition from caring and empathetic to emotionless broke him on a level he couldn’t predict. The realization hit him too little, too late. He’d rather have her screaming, bursting up with all those pent up emotions—maybe she’d scream some sense into him?

How little did she know that there was nothing but ruins after she barged in his life. His rules, peace of mind—all ruined, burned to the ground. And he kept on hiding in the cinders of his professionalism like the adamant coward living in denial, fighting her for her own sake.

The irony that used to slip his attention at all times plagued his mind now: he was capable of performing the most intricate medical procedures without a single blink of an eye, but some of the most basic human interactions were unconquered territory for him. No book could ever teach him how to deal with this bind, this yearning, this…thing.

A reprimanding curse strangled in his throat failed to squash the complete folly bubbling up in his head. No mystery could overcome him, and yet there he was—conceding his defeat. As if he’d come under mind control, Ethan’s feet dragged him out of the lab, steering towards Tiffany.

He followed her shadow down the hall, almost certain that she heard his footsteps. But Tiffany didn’t stop; she dashed across the renovation site, running away from him. Calling her out was not an option, so he set up a marathon pace, until he managed to catch up with her.

Longing and unsure, he gripped her arm and spun her around. Tiffany almost lost her balance, falling right into his arms, shell-shocked. Such a wild thing trapped in his embrace, piercing him with emerald green sparkling with puzzlement. So fragile…But not like a flower—she was like a bomb, ready to blow up any second.

Tiffany’s confusion disappeared along with Ethan’s previous restraint the moment his lips forced forward, recklessly crashing into hers. Surprised by the bold change of his heart, she welcomed him with an instinctive moan, allowing her body to melt into his. The kiss was cautious and quick, yet it had the power of a grenade, and the explosion was just a minute away.

Dim flash of light gleaming faintly from a half-broken lamp illuminated their eyes locked in a daring staredown. Mounting tension creeped in, mirroring the need that consumed them wholly, so thick he could almost taste it.

The explosion came with the next kiss—even more erratic than the first one. Their mouths reunited with life-threatening urgency, hastily skipping into a tangle of tongues and gasps, as silent as the plea to let this moment last forever.

There was nothing romantic in their battle for dominance, hands greedy and possessive, trying to prove who was more desperate. They devoured each other like it was the last time their lips got a chance to meet—and maybe it was.

_It had to be._

Mere seconds later, Tiffany was pinned against the wall, whimpering at the unabashed force of his body trapping her deliciously. Ethan’s hands traced her silhouette, led by the blind urge to save the shape of her curves under his fingertips. She returned the caress, wandering up and down his back with similar intensity. Her leg hooked around his waist, pulling him closer, so close she must’ve felt how _hard_ it become to resist her.

He’d kissed powerful women before, but this one wielded such power he’d only read about in works of fiction. Except she was real—flesh and bone, blood pulsing to the rhythm of his heart, with those drugging, eager lips making him feel alive. How could he resist a breath of fresh air?

A flame of her touch reaching under his sweater sobered him like the freezing Boston air. His lips suddenly stopped moving, giving in to frantic pecks on his neck, mouth and chin until she retreated, letting her frustration take over as her eyes slammed shut.

„I’m sorry.” Tiffany’s mouth accepted his panted apology before he broke the embrace and took a small step back. His fingers flitted across her jaw, soothing her silken skin reddened by his prickly stubble.

„I’ve heard that one before.” She whispered, her chest heaving violently, emeralds all but burning with rage. „You can’t push me away forever.”

Ethan rubbed his eyes, doing his best to avert her gaze reflecting the truth he was trying to bury. „We’ve already discussed this. I’m your boss, Tiffany.”

„So let me repeat myself: it doesn’t matter, we can make it work.” The firmness in her voice similar to the verve and determination she stunned him with on everyday basis.

„It does matter and it changes everything.” He disagreed. „I have to make sure you’ll rise to your full potential.”

Tiffany scoffed, shaking her head. „Where was that stern professionalism just a minute ago, when you put your tongue in my mouth?”

Burying a hand in his hair, the older doctor let out a frustrated groan. „I won’t do it again. We have to stop this. You have to stop pushing me over the edge. It’s not a game.”

„You’re the only one playing, Ethan.” She stated through gritted teeth. Her eyes searched him, only to find shame and remorse crossing his face. Witch-bright green turned watery again, and he saw her spirit finally give up.

„If this lie is supposed to work, you’ll have to redouble your efforts.” She added, buttoning up her coat, fingers moving down with fury. „You’re entirely unconvincing in pretending there’s nothing between us.”

„Tiffany…”

„Yeah, I know.” She sealed their fate with a hiss and a wince of chagrin. „Just…Share the cookies with Doctor Banerji.”

He watched her walk away slowly, dumbstruck and agape. „I will. Thank you. For everything.”

Still processing everything that happened in the past couple of minutes, Ethan stood by the wall motionless, gaze glued to the silhouette carved in his memory like a favorite song. Then, unexpectedly, she stopped in the middle of the corridor, jerking her head in his direction. Their eyes immediately locked, freezing him on the spot.

„You will do it again.”

„What?”

„You will kiss me again.” Her words reverberated around the dead-quiet corridor. „My Nanna believes that whatever we do at midnight on New Year’s Day will set course for the whole year.”

Luck was on his side, as the distance between them wouldn’t allow her to notice the agony flickering on his face. „I didn’t reckon you to believe in such silly superstitions.”

She sent him the brightest of smiles—the kind of sincere smile that could easily bring the world to its knees. But it was meant only for him. „I believe in the evidence staring back at me right now.”

And just like that, she was gone.

***

The diagnostician returned to the empty lab, short of breath and mind. Her scent was still holding on in the air, its invisible shackles keeping him grounded in the bitterness of defeat.

Tiffany’s lipstick lingered on his mouth and tongue, reminding him of his failure; his skin stamped with blazing trails wherever her lips touched. It was too much and not enough.

Reaching the end of his tether, he slammed his fists on the table with head bowed and shoulders slumped, his force almost flipping the cookie box subtly reminding him of its presence.

Ethan moved it closer and took off the lid; inside the box lay twelve heart-shaped sugar cookies perfectly dressed up in red and white icing. Some were simple—red dots on white, the others had letters frosted right in the middle. It didn’t strike him at first, but his detective hunch couldn’t be mistaken: she’d sent him a message. His heart leaped, taking all the letters out and lining them on the lid.

The ticking of his watch split the ominous silence, but he was too busy to notice the passing of minutes. He contemplated the letters, trying to fit them into a word. Nothing seemed right. There was an O, a M, S and I in pairs, an U and a Y. Ethan’s fingers moved the cookies with growing frustration. It didn’t make any sense.

Until it did.

A sharp twinge pierced his chest, triggering the kind of momentary paralysis he’d often seen among his patients. He sat still, his mind wiped out of thoughts, gawping at the randomly lined cookies like he’d been drugged. Confirmation wasn’t necessary, but the misery flowing in his veins forced him to arrange the letters in correct order.

**I miss you.**

The sentence pealed out in his head with Tiffany’s voice, as intense as her kiss. Suddenly, the bottle of whiskey he just opened demanded his absolute attention. Burning the pain away was a temporary remedy, but Ethan was willing to give it a shot—no, _several shots_. Before he reached for the mug, his eyes darted to the box again: there was something else hiding at the bottom, something beside the polka dot cookies.

A note.

That tiny piece of paper, so tiny it almost went unnoticed, smelled like sugar. Every word written on it curved with passion, chaotically elegant.

**I hope and trust that this taste will change your life forever.**

Ethan’s face twisted into a grimace of anguish while his hand instinctively grabbed the bottle. He took a massive gulp of the orange-colored liquid, rendering the mug wholly unnecessary.

The sizzling burning in his throat had no effect on his self-inflicted wound, but it didn’t matter. Fool’s courage made him take another sip…Still not powerful enough to numb him—and he began to think that nothing was.

His soul was stained with her. Permanently.

_It’s going to be a long night._

___

**~ Director’s cut ~**

Tiffany never made it to Bryce’s party. She went home and spent the night in bed with Jack Daniel’s and depressing music.

Ethan was tempted to call her, but never did.

They kissed again a couple of weeks later at the opera.

**Author's Note:**

> So here I am, offering you a NYE angst as a late Valentine’s Day gift...*sweats nervously*
> 
> I couldn’t accept the way they smoothly got back to working together in canon. Tiffany would definitely try to break Dr. I-need-to-be-able-to-push-you-to-your-limits, and we know damn well the man has two weaknesses: pancakes and resisting MC.  
>   
> More works available on my tumblr: the-pale-goddess.tumblr.com


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